


Incidental Contact

by shoemaster



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, Oblivious, Olympics, over 10000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-28
Updated: 2010-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-08 09:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoemaster/pseuds/shoemaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brent doesn't understand why his linemate and roommate is being so weird about his Olympic fling with Johnny Weir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incidental Contact

**Author's Note:**

> This is so completely fictional, I chose the parts of reality that I liked and tossed others aside. This just started in text messages with beatperfume or really, as a bed time story I told myself and mentioned to her. Thanks to her and doctor_denmark for bribing me, I'd never have written it all without awesome incentives. All of the love to quettaser and beatperfume for the beta. Thanks to Mike Babcock for providing huge amounts of angst, I know that's what he was thinking about when going for that gold medal.
> 
> For those of you here because of the Johnny Weir part of the story [here is a primer about those hockey playing dudes I'm so fond of](http://panfix.livejournal.com/7060.html).

Brent's heard about how the typical Vancouver weather has been causing issues for the outdoor sports, but the view from the top floor of condominium serving as their home for the next two weeks is comforting. He grew up with these rainy, foggy winters and so did the committee that planned this whole thing, so he's not sure why it's such a surprise.

Brent glances down at his watch, Duncs is going to be asleep for a while yet, so he doesn't want to go back to their room and risk waking him up. Brent should be resting, too, but he's too wound up so he decides to check out the common areas before they have to head over to GM Place, or Canadian Hockey Place. Whatever they're calling it for the next two weeks.

The Olympic Village is busy with people, and he wonders if this is what college would've been like had he gone instead of being drafted by the WHL. There probably would've been fewer Russians at BC or Minnesota. Speaking of Russians, he can see some of their hockey players hassling someone over in the corner. They've all got at least six inches on whoever it is they're starting to shove, and suddenly Brent finds himself on his feet, going to intervene.

His shoulders get a little less tight when he sees that at least Ovie isn't with them. He doesn't think he'll have to throw a punch, but Bettman would probably find some way to fine or suspend him if he hit the cash cow, but guys from the KHL are a free pass.

He shoves his way through the two at the outside and says, "Oh hey, I've been looking for you," as casual as can be.

It's that figure skater, the one rooming with a girl, and he's sizing Brent up even as he keeps an eye on the Russians. "Sorry, I got held up," he says. And then he actually tosses his hair, and says something in Russian. Brent doesn't have to know the language to know it's an insult, and he grabs the kid by the shoulder and muscles him out into the hall.

He doesn't think they'll try to start anything with him, 2014 is in Sochi, and if one of them hits an NHL player, there's no way the owners will let their players participate.

Out in the hall the figure skater shakes his hair back into place. "That was almost as bad as high school. I could've handled that myself, but thank you for expediting the process. Galina would've rained hellfire upon them had they actually harmed my person."

Brent blinks at that. "You're welcome?"

"Now, how can I thank you...Mr. Canadian?"

"Brent Seabrook. Or Seabs. And you are?"

"Johnny, Johnny Weir." Johnny sticks out his hand and Brent shakes it. Not a bad grip for someone his size.

"You're the one rooming with the girl, right?" Brent asks.

"Tanith and I found the idea of sharing with Evan equally appalling, so we decided to share instead. How about you? Are you flying solo or sharing with another burly hockey player?"

"I'm sharing with Duncs, but we room together all year, so it's really not that different from being on the road."

"Must be nice, keeping your routine intact, even a little." It is nice, Tazer and Kaner aren't as lucky, and Brent can already see Tazer looking around for his roomie before remembering they're opponents for the next two weeks, but it's Kaner's own fault for being American. "Now, I was on my way to get some coffee, let me buy you a cup, as a thank you."

"Oh, I can't-"

"What, you can't risk being seen with me?" Johnny's pushing his shoulders back and raising his chin just a little.

Brent's a little ticked that Johnny seems to have already forgotten that Brent helped end that situation with the Russians, not start it. "No, I mean, I can't have coffee. It's too close to game time."

"An unnaturally colored sports drink, then," Johnny suggests, tossing his hair.

And that's how Brent ends up at a table in the cafeteria trying not to choke on his blue Gatorade as Johnny does a frighteningly good impression of Ovechkin, and explains some really complex figure skating drama.

"Not that hockey doesn't have drama – thanks, Avery – but you're making me really glad that leaving my feet can lead to a suspension."

For some reason, this makes Johnny start cracking up, and Brent's proud of himself for cracking that little facade he's had up the whole time. "What? What did I say?"

"I just think you'd look spectacular in sequins and illusion netting," Johnny says, still laughing into his hand.

Brent grimaces, "I'll leave that to you guys."

"Too much look for you?" Johnny asks.

"Do you think my pads would fit underneath?" Brent asks, like he's even considering the switch.

Johnny sighs, "Probably not, but if you could get a game of guys playing in our costumes, I would pay so much money to watch that."

"I'll suggest it for the next Hockey Fights Cancer benefit," Brent says as his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_Where are you? First shuttle leaves in 30_.

"Important news?" Johnny asks, leaning towards Brent.

"Duncs is up from his nap, I should go back to my room and get my stuff so we can head to the rink."

"I should head back to my room, too. Rest up before the short program."

They're staying in the same tower, so they leave the meal room and weave through the crowd of athletes together.

Okay, so Brent had been aware of Johnny flirting with him for the past hour or so, but he didn't really think it was intentional, it seemed more like his default setting than anything else. Apparently now was the time to revise that opinion.

The elevator doors shut and Johnny gives him a long look, and Brent could swear he feels the air shift, and then he finds himself backed into the corner of the elevator with Johnny pressed against him, and leaning down to kiss him suddenly seemed like a great idea.

In the back of his mind there's a voice – one that sounds disturbingly like Tazer – telling him that it's actually a very bad idea, because for one, the elevator doors could open at anytime, and Johnny's lips are really soft and distracting. There's no way he'd notice before someone else saw them.

Johnny's grinding against Brent's thigh and Brent is encouraging him the best he can with both of his hands on Johnny's ass.

Unfortunately, then the doors do open, and Johnny is the first to react, stepping back with a pleased grin. "Well, this is me. I don't suppose you want to walk me to my room? Tanith is out at Whistler today."

That's one hell of an invitation right there. "I can't stay long," Brent says, even as Johnny's leading him out into the hallway.

"You won't have to."

His jeans are suddenly feeling way too tight, and oh Jesus, Johnny's swinging his hips as he walks. Yeah, this shouldn't take long at all.

Once they're in Johnny's room, Brent has time to notice the giant Audrey Hepburn poster on the wall before he's pushed back against the door. Johnny's got his leg between Brent's and is sliding it deliberately against Brent's cock. He's plenty hard already, but Johnny seems to be enjoying himself, and it's been forever since he hooked up with a guy, so Brent is, too.

The last time he hooked up with a chick wasn't exactly recent either – he and Duncs end up spending most of their time just hanging out in a corner or their room when everyone else hits the bars. Watching Kaner hitting on girls is more entertaining than doing it themselves.

Johnny's skin is really soft and smooth though. Brent feels guilty for the stubble burn he's going to be giving him, since Johnny isn't burning him back. Not that Johnny is complaining, in fact, he breaks off the kiss with a grin and drops to his knees.

Brent inhales sharply as Johnny deftly undoes his button and pulls down his zipper, and when Johnny presses his mouth against Brent's cock and just breaths on it through Brent's boxers, his head falls back and hits the door with a thunk. He only hears it though, he can't feel it because right now all of his nerves are in his dick and he just wants Johnny to hurry up and blow him, before he does something embarrassing.

"Johnny, come on. Please," Brent says.

Johnny's smile is a smug one as he pulls down Brent's boxers, but Brent doesn't care all he cares about is the feel of Johnny's hand wrapped around his dick and the way Johnny's licking his lips. The anticipation is damn near killing him, but he just knows that it's gonna be good.

When Johnny finally takes Brent's cock into his mouth, it's definitely not a let down, and jesus, did he some how forget how awesome blowjobs are? Johnny's mouth is hot and wet and he sets an easy rhythm with his hand and Brent can't help pushing into him, just a little. He's not an asshole about it but there's only so much restraint he has and Johnny hasn't told him to cut it out yet.

He keeps one hand braced against the wall, because his balance isn't at its best right now, but the other falls down against Johnny's head, petting his hair and occasionally straying to his cheek. If he presses there just a little he can feel his dick in Johnny's mouth and can sort of feel the extra pressure on his cock. It's weirdly hot and he can't help the moan that escapes when he realizes what he's feeling.

Johnny reaches up and pushes Brent's hand firmer against his cheek, apparently he thinks it's pretty hot, too, because he moans around Brent's cock. That gives him a shock like someone put a cattle prod at the base of his spine, only awesome. His hand moves back to Johnny's hair, and he can't help but curl his fingers into it even as he tries not to pull. Johnny takes the hint and starts moving faster and sucking harder and Brent knows he's making some ridiculous noises but he just doesn't care.

"Fuck, Johnny, I'm gonna," he moans. He tries to pull Johnny off, in case he didn't hear, but Johnny won't be moved, he just backs off to the head of Brent's cock and works the shaft with his hand, until Brent is coming in his mouth.

His knees buckle but he manages to catch himself, and Johnny pushes him back against the door as he catches his breath. Johnny rises from his knees and moves to kiss Brent again, but hesitates an inch away until Brent closes the gap.

"Mmm," Johnny pulls away a moment later. "Your pants are buzzing."

"Yeah they are," Brent says. "Wait, what?"

Johnny reaches down to Brent's knee and pulls Brent's phone out of his pocket. "Your phone."

"Oh!" Brent takes it from Johnny and opens the text.

It's Duncs. _Where are you? It's go time._

_Got held up go on without me. See you at GM_ Brent replies before tucking his phone into his jacket and pulling his pants back up to his waist.

"Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?" Johnny asks.

"Not yet," Brent says, grabbing Johnny by the belt loops and pulling him closer.

He rubs his hand against the obvious bulge in Johnny's very tight jeans, which makes Johnny gasp. Unfortunately, Brent really doesn't have the time to drag this out and tease him, so he unbuckles Johnny's belt and gets his pants open as quickly as possible. He's not as smooth as Johnny was, but he is fast, and he's got his hands in Johnny's briefs faster than a wrister from the point.

Johnny moans and pushes into Brent's fist as Brent uses his thumb to smear some of the precome around and get things sliding a little more.

"I don't want you to think – ah – that I lack stamina, or anything," Johnny says. "But this isn't going to take very long."

Brent feels pretty smug when he hears that, and twists his wrist on the upstroke. "I won't tell anyone."

"Such a gentleman," Johnny says, his voice coming out broken and breathy.

Brent leans down to kiss him again, even as he tries to see how fast he can get Johnny to lose it. It doesn't take long before Johnny's moaning into Brent's mouth and panting against his lips.

"Fuck," Johnny says as he spills into Brent's hand, his fingers digging into Brent's shoulders. Brent strokes him through it as Johnny clings to him.

After a minute or so, Johnny pushes back and runs a hand through his hair. "Well, I'd say that was a mutually beneficial encounter."

Johnny's smiling, but it's a very public smile, which is weird, because Brent's wiping Johnny's come off on his jeans and that's usually a private type thing.

"Uh, yeah. Definitely," Brent says. "This was fun."

Something in Johnny's face relaxes a bit. "The unofficial Olympic sport."

Then he reaches into Brent's pocket for his phone and does something with it, before slipping it back in as Brent zips up his pants. "Good luck, tonight."

"Yeah, you too," Brent says, leaning down to kiss him one last time.

 

Duncs is gone by the time Brent gets back to the room and he's grateful for the chance to clean up before heading down to the second shuttle. He splashes some water on his face and changes into a fresh pair of jeans for the ride over.

Brent grabs his bag, quickly throwing his iPod inside before running to the shuttle.

He takes the stairs this time.

 

It's impressive, really, how they managed to cover every single reference to the Vancouver Canucks in the locker room. There's no doubt as to what team they're playing on for the next two weeks, that's for sure.

Brent tosses his bag into his locker and settles on the bench next to Duncs, who's already lacing up his skates. "Sorry I missed the shuttle, got held up."

"Yeah, you said," he says, tying off the left skate before looking up at Brent. "Please tell me you didn't answer my text during sex."

"What? How did you-" Brent runs a hand through his hair and scratches the back of his neck, like that will keep anyone else from noticing like Duncs did. "No. Not really, no."

"You're lucky Tazer doesn't have his captain hat on," Duncs says, nodding across the locker room where Toews is talking with Getzlaf and Neidermayer.

"It's not like I _planned_ it," Brent hisses, tugging off his shirt. "It just...you know. Happened."

He digs around in his bag for a second, just to ignore the eyebrow he knows Duncs is giving him. "Fuck. I forgot the chocolate."

It's bad enough that he can't drive himself to the arena, and that the games are at different times every day so he can't really settle into a routine, so you'd think he could remember the more easily controlled parts of it. He needs the seven Hershey's Kisses before he hits the ice, and he left the bag his mom brought him yesterday on top of the TV.

"Fuck," he says again.

"Eh, don't worry about it," Duncs says, pulling a bag out of his locker and lobs it at him.

Brent clutches the bag against his chest. "Duncs, you're a life saver. I'd be lost without you."

"Don't I know it."

It takes the team most of the first period to adjust to skating together, but once the first goal goes in, it's like a domino effect, and Norway is sent packing.

When he's changed back into street clothes and finally gets to skim through his texts, (mom, aunt, Browser, Ladder, Fraz) there's a _Congrats!_ from an unsaved number, but when he investigates, he sees that there's a text from him to the same number, _thx for the bj_ and oh. Right.

He shoots off a quick _good luck_ before tucking his phone back into his pocket. "Who's ready for dinner?"

 

They only get a short practice on Wednesday - everyone needs to use the ice, and the women's teams have games in the afternoon - but everyone is paranoid about the Swiss, so they all hit the gym attached to the Olympic Village.

He and Duncs are almost done passing one of the medicine balls back and forth when he gets the feeling that someone is watching him. It's not entirely unexpected, but it's a little surprising; Crosby's the one who the skiers have been mobbing.

He glances around the gym and notices Johnny Weir stretching on the mats, he's facing Brent and winks when their eyes meet.

Brent nods at Johnny and turns back to Duncs who's putting the ball back on the rack. He's surprised when Duncs says, "Stretching," and leads him over to the mats next to Johnny. Duncs just nods at him, like he would any other athlete in the facility. 

"Well, hello, Brent," Johnny says, folding his torso over his legs and grabbing his feet. "Fancy meeting you here."

Duncs looks confused, "Been fraternizing with the Yanks, Seabs?"

Johnny's reply is slightly muffled since his mouth is somewhere around his shins. "He was nice enough to help me out of a delicate situation with some Russians yesterday."

There's nothing implied in the words or the tone, but Duncs is no dumb jock. He gives Brent a long look, but continues making small talk with Johnny.

Belatedly, Brent remembers his manners. "Duncs, this is Johnny Weir. Johnny, this is Duncan Keith."

"You hockey players do love your nicknames, don't you?" Johnny asks.

"I guess," Brent says. He assumes most team sports do, but he's only ever played hockey.

"You guys are off tonight, yeah?" Johnny asks, arching his back and stretching.

"Yep, and then the Swiss tomorrow," Brent says, watching Johnny inhale and exhale.

"If you guys wanted to flatten them, I'd appreciate it. Stéphane and I have a small wager on that game."

"That's the plan," Duncan says, still looking abnormally blank.

Johnny finally unfolds himself and sighs. "I have to go find my mother before Galina does, but Brent, if you're free later, just text me."

Brent hasn't _not_ been thinking about how flexible Johnny is, so he plans on being free later. "Sure thing."

Johnny smiles and grabs his bag. "See you later. It was nice to meet you, Duncan."

"Nice to meet you, too."

Brent watches Johnny leave, and looks back to Duncs, ready to start stretching in earnest. But Duncs is giving him A Look. "What?"

"Did?" he shakes his head, like that will make the words fall out. "Did you just schedule a booty call?"

Brent bristles a little at his tone. "Yeah, maybe. Probably. You're not going to get all weird just cause he's a he, right?"

"No!" Now Duncs is crossing his arms, like he's offended Brent would even suggest that.

He really doesn't get what Dunc's deal is. "And like you've never picked up in at the gym before."

"Yeah, but not. Not at the Olympics. Try not to get too distracted, eh?"

"I'm not going to forget why we're here, if that's what you mean," Brent says, gesturing to everything in the room stamped CANADA and OLYMPICS, including their own clothes.

Duncs just sighs, but his mouth falls into a tight line. "Okay. Now you better switch legs if you don't want you calf to get all tweaky again."

 

After they shower and change, it's time to go meet their parents. The Keiths want to go sight seeing, and Brent's mom offered to show them around, which means he and Duncs are going along, too. _All day._ It's fun, hanging out with his mom and dad, and Duncs and his folks. Their moms email each other all the time or something, so they're old friends. Plus Brent gets to show off his hometown to Duncs, even if it's them and a million tourists.

They manage to escape back to their room after dinner. The second the elevator door closes, Brent looks to Duncs and says, "Halo?"

"Winner gets a foot massage."

"I am going to kick your ass so hard," he sighs.

"I'd like to see you try."

Of course, once they're back in their room, they both just lie on Brent's bed for a few minutes, because Duncs claims his is too far away.

"Why does it feel like we just played the second game of a back to back in Detroit?" Brent asks, his face half buried in a pillow.

"Because the entire world invaded your city and we spent all day leading our moms and dads through the crowd?"

"Oh. Right," Brent sighs.

They finally manage to drag themselves upright and get the Xbox set up, but it's a near thing.

Toews comes wandering in about twenty minutes later, and takes a seat on Dunc's empty bed. "I got next game."

"We're in the middle of a very important battle here. Go bug Kaner, I know he brought his," Brent says, not taking his eyes of the screen.

"He's busy doing stuff with Team USA," Toews says.

"Ah," Duncs says.

The three of them just shoot the shit for a while, and Brent can almost forget that they're in Vancouver for the Olympics and not because they're playing the Canucks. It doesn't quite work, since there are a few Kaner and Sharpy sized holes in the room.

Brent jumps when his ass starts buzzing, or really, his phone starts buzzing in his back pocket. He's lucky Duncan plays fair and paused the game when he yelped, otherwise he'd be so so dead.

"Sorry, forgot it was in there," he says, rolling towards Duncs so he can fish it out to read the text.

_You busy?_

_Just in my room playing halo with DK_ Brent types back.

_What room #?_

_927_

It's a quick exchange, but when he looks up from his phone, Duncs and Tazer are staring at him.

"Was it your booty call?" Duncs asks.

"Seabs has a _booty call_?" Toews looks like someone told him Wayne Gretzky is secretly American.

"You could sound a little less surprised, eh?" Brent says. Just because he's not picking up chicks in bars and riding around in limos with them.

Toews isn't even listening to him, he's just having a weird eyebrow conversation with Duncs, but Brent doesn't get a chance to complain, because there's a knock on the door.

"It's open," Duncs calls, so Brent doesn't even have to get up.

"You didn't mention your little shindig," Johnny says, when he clears the doorway.

"I wouldn't really call it a shindig," Brent says, pushing himself up. He glances back towards Toews check his reaction, and yeah, surprised, but he looks chill, except for how he's eying Duncs.

"Three's a party in my book," Johnny says, before turning to Toews. "I'm Johnny Weir."

"Jonathan Toews." Toews holds out a hand to shake, and Brent relaxes a little. "You're one of the figure skaters, right?"

"You got it," Johnny smiles and settles on the corner of the bed near Brent's feet. "You all play for the same team, right?"

"Yeah, in Chicago," Duncs says. "Tazer here is the Captain."

"Patrick Kane is on your team, too, right?" Johnny asks. Brent's surprised that Johnny knows that much about them, to be honest.

"Yeah, why?" Toews asks.

"Some of the ice dancers want to meet him. Is he taken?" Johnny's smirking at the end of the question, but Brent and Duncs are looking expectantly at Toews.

"You'd have to ask him," he says easily.

Brent glances at Duncs who shrugs, they weren't going to get a straight answer out of him.

"Seabs, I can take over your game if you two have plans," Tazer says, leaning forward.

Duncs looks to him sharply, "If you leave now you automatically lose."

"I'm in no rush," Johnny says. "You can finish playing to defend your honor."

"What'd you bet?" Toews asks.

"Foot massage. The Moms dragged us all over town today," Duncs says.

Johnny makes a sympathetic noise, "Been there. My mother is planning some shopping for after the long program. The exchange rate is better in Russia, but Vancouver prices are better than Moscow."

Tazer's nodding, because that's what he does, he listens and cares even if he has no idea what you're talking about. It's what makes him a good captain.

"Game on, Seabs?" Duncs asks, while the Johnnys start talking.

"Game on," he agrees, unpausing the game.

It's another twenty minutes before Brent dies horrifically on screen. "So am I paying up now, or will you take a rain check?"

"Rain check," Toews says. "I'm not watching you rub his feet."

"I'll take an IOU," Duncs agrees. "We've kept Johnny waiting long enough."

"It was almost interesting!" Johnny says, and Brent has to laugh. "Jonathan is a great conversationalist."

"Yeah, he's pretty good with that stuff. Let me grab my shoes and we can go...where ever."

"Good luck tomorrow, Johnny," Toews says, picking up Brent's controller. "I'll be pulling for Lysacek to fall."

"Aren't you just a sweetheart," Johnny smiles.

"See you tomorrow, Tazer. Duncs, I'll be back later," Brent says, grabbing a track jacket out of the closet. It doesn't really matter if it's his or Dunc's, either way it'll fit.

"So just how flexible are you?" Brent asks as Johnny locks the door to his room.

"I'll show you after tomorrow," Johnny smirks. "Tonight needs to be low impact, tomorrow night is the free."

"We have a couple of days off after tomorrow," Brent mentions.

"How convenient," Johnny says unzipping his warm up jacket.

 

Duncs is already gone when Brent wakes up in the morning, which is a little weird, but it's not like food is delivered to the room, and Brent isn't always the happiest camper when woken up.

But still.

When he hits the cafeteria, he waves to Duncs and grabs a tray to fill with food, but by the time he makes it over to the table, he's standing up and gathering up his trash. 

"Leaving already?" Brent asks.

"Done eating," Duncan shrugs.

"See you upstairs, then."

The other team members are already engrossed in conversation or staring at their eggs and coffee reverently. Brent hasn't caught much of this season of Lost and isn't going to disturb the Iginla's coffee zen, so he just pokes at his own eggs til he sees a blond head a couple tables away.

They've got an unspoken nonfraternization rule going, but as long as he doesn't actually talk to him, it doesn't count, right? Brent pulls out his phone and shoots Kaner a quick text. 

_Some ice dancers want to meet you_

He watches Kane read the message and look over to the Team Canada table. They make eye contact and nod at each other before Kane returns to his phone.

_Canadian or American?_

Like any Canadian would want to meet you. American.

Asshole.

Kaner cursing him out shouldn't cheer him up as much as it does.

 

The Swiss game is rough, he and Duncs aren't clicking like they should be and the mood on the bench when von Gunten ties the game in the third isn't pretty.

Despite the win, Babcock isn't looking thrilled in the locker room afterward. Brent just wants to get through the speech and back to their room so they can figure out whatever they need to do to clear the air.

But Duncs is apparently making plans to grab a beer with Getzlaf. "Sorry, Seabs, I figured you'd be staying in to watch the long program."

Brent's too off balance to point out that whatever bar they go to will probably have the skating on. "Oh sure, right. Well, have fun." 

Brent changes in the room and then heads down to the lounge. Just because Duncs made other plans doesn't mean he has to hang out by himself all night.

He watches Crosby get his ass beat at ping pong by the pregnant curler, and takes up a paddle for a few games himself before falling to Webber.

Tazer and Richardson find him shortly thereafter and drag him out to dinner. "We found a place that gets the east coast broadcast, so we can see what's happening down the street undelayed."

"Tape delay is such bullshit," Brent agrees. His dad had spent at least an hour complaining about it yesterday.

The channel switches back and forth between halfpipe and skeleton, some curling updates thrown in for good measure, while they order their food, but the men's figure skating takes a firm hold of the broadcast by the time their meals arrive.

They must be talking about Johnny, because his picture is on the screen, in that black and pink costume. Brent has only known him for a few days, but he can already tell that the costume is a good representation of who Johnny is.

The announcers move on to the Canadian kid, and Brent pulls out his phone. _Saw you on TV. Kick ass tonight._

Thx. I'm skating late, you better cheer for me.

That night, Brent discovers that he's really glad he didn't go into a sport with any judging. His stats might not always be the best in the league, but they're what he's done. Not what somebody thinks he's done. Or what he did plus what a panel of people think he did.

A goal is a goal no matter how he was holding the stick, and a shot is blocked no matter where the bruise is going to form.

_Nice flower hat._ Brent sends off while the judges deliberate or what the fuck ever.

When the numbers appear on the screen, he's more disappointed than he thought he'd be. Johnny looked really good out there and it's not his fault he hit that rut in the ice.

And Lysacek's hair is exactly why Brent doesn't use hair gel. Not a lot anyway.

_Call me if you need a pick me up. Light day tomorrow_. Brent taps out.

Brent switches over to the Daily Show after the Russian guy skates and Duncs comes rolling in before the guest comes out.

"Hey, man," Brent says.

"Hey. I'm gonna take a shower."

"Okay, this is a repeat anyway. Colbert is new."

Duncs nods and heads into the bathroom. It's a quick shower, he makes it out before Colbert finishes "The Word."

Brent watches him try to remember where he's keeping everything in this room, and checks him over for any new bruises. "Clean sweatpants are in the middle drawer."

Duncs shoots him a grin. "Thanks."

Brent's phone beeps. _You really think your dick will make me forget about an Olympic medal? Cocky aren't you?_ That startles a laugh out of him.

"What?" Duncs asks.

"Nothing, just Johnny."

"What's Tazer up to...oh, Weir? How'd he do?"

"Yeah, he got sixth."

"Too bad," Duncs says, sliding into his bed. "Good night."

It's still pretty early, but he rolls over and turns of the lamp next to his bed. Brent turns off his lamp, too, but leaves the television on. "G'night. Let me know if the TV is too loud."

Duncs just grunts, so Brent thumbs it down a few levels just in case.

 

Brent hits the gym in the morning, nothing big, just runs on one of the treadmills for a few miles to clear his head and sort some shit out. He's going to talk to Duncs today, no matter what. With any luck, he'll be in the room when he gets back and they can figure out how to get their mojo back online and be back to normal.

But Duncs isn't in the room, Johnny is, with two cups of coffee. "I texted you," Johnny says.

"Oh, yeah, I left my phone up here."

"That's what Duncan said, he let me in so I wouldn't have to waste the coffee," Johnny says, passing a cup to Brent.

"Did he say where he was going?" Brent asks, sipping the coffee.

"Not exactly, though he did give me the distinct impression that he'd be gone long enough for you to demonstrate how you're going to make me forget that my nemesis won gold."

"Oh jeez, you're setting bar kind of high, aren't you?"

Johnny grins, "Well that's why I brought the coffee."

Brent just shakes his head, apparently, that's not all Johnny brought, because there's a bottle of lube on the nightstand and a handful of condoms. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but you might be setting the bar a little high there."

"Hmm?" Johnny asks before following Brent's line of sight to the small pile of condoms. "Oh, I just grabbed some out of the bowl in the hallway. Wanted to make sure we got our share, you know that once the snowboarders are done there's going to be a shortage."

He can't really argue with that logic.

Johnny lies back on Brent's bed and stretches very deliberately, Brent's not going to have a chance to finish his coffee.

"Coffee's the closest I'm going to get to flowers, isn't it?" Brent asks. "Careful, I might start thinking you only want me for my body."

"I'm not wearing any underwear," Johnny says. Brent's eyes immediately fall to the bulge in Johnny's jeans.

He wonders if Johnny's been rubbing himself through his pants and had to stop when it got too uncomfortable or if he's half hard already just from thinking about how Brent's going to fuck him.

"Flowers are overrated," he says, putting the coffee down on the table and kicking off his shoes before joining Johnny on the bed.

"I'm starting to think you only want me for my mmf-" Brent cuts Johnny off with a kiss.

He half expects Johnny to make fun of him when he goes straight for Johnny's jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping faster than is probably polite.

"Hey!" Brent says pulling back and looking down at Johnny's brief-covered cock in betrayal.

"So I lied," Johnny says, even though Brent can see that for himself. "What are you going to do about it?"

There's really only one thing to do, and that's take off the damn underwear, but the jeans have to go first. Johnny just lies back and lifts his hips, letting Brent do the work of peeling his jeans off. For someone so short his legs sure are long.

The jeans get tangled around Johnny's ankles, and Brent's trying to get them free, but he glances up at Johnny and he's rubbing himself through his shorts. It's a lazy movement, like he barely realizes he's doing it, but fuck. Getting the damn jeans off isn't getting any easier, and it's a long few moments as Brent tries to focus on the task at hand even as his attention wanders up to Johnny's cock.

Johnny's still got on his underwear and his really tight shirt – he and Versteeg must shop at the same places – but it's good enough for Brent, he moves up the bed and straddles Johnny's lap and holds himself up on his palms, not touching Johnny anywhere but the outside of his thighs.

Johnny stares at him for moment and Brent starts to smirk before Johnny grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down into a kiss. Brent's still holding the rest of him up, at least until he feels Johnny's hips pushing up, his cock trying to find some sort of friction. Brent's could really use some, too, so he drops down until he's covering Johnny from head to toe.

He really wants to get naked, and he wants Johnny to get naked, because they have plans for being naked. Plans involving the lube and condoms on the nightstand. Brent's been looking forward to these plans.

For now, taking off his pants is too much effort, so Brent pulls back and shucks off his t-shirt as quickly as he can. Johnny's hands immediately start wandering across the skin of his back and down to the gap between his jeans and his ass.

Brent grinds down on Johnny who gasps against his mouth. "Seriously, the pants have got to go," Johnny says, shoving Brent to the side and reaching for the button.

Brent should maybe be concerned that someone six inches shorter and probably fifty pounds lighter is manhandling him this way, but he's on board with the end game, so he lets Johnny grope with the zipper.

He definitely lets out a moan of his own once his pants are loose enough to give his dick some breathing room and kicks them and his boxers off as quick as he can.

"Why are you wearing a shirt?" Brent asks, reaching for the hem.

"Societal standards of 'decency'..." Johnny says, though his voice is muffled by the shirt being pulled up over his head.

Brent doesn't know when Johnny started caring about those things, but he doesn't care because they're finally naked, nearly at least. Johnny's still got on his liar underwear on.

Brent puts his hand over the bulge in the fabric and rubs the wet spot with his thumb. He really likes the way Johnny's hips jerk up and the way his breath catches in his throat. He keeps teasing him that way before pulling down the briefs to reveal the paler skin of Johnny's hips and his swollen cock.

Brent runs his fingers over the lighter skin, pale for Johnny isn't the same as pale for Brent or anyone else on the Canadian hockey team, but he likes the contrast, the way it says "this part is hidden and secret", it's hot.

"Oh my god, yes I have tan lines, it's a failing. Just-" Johnny cuts himself off, twisting his pelvis so his dick bumps against Brent's hand.

He can take a hint, so he wraps his hand around Johnny's cock and strokes it a few times, before sliding down the bed to take it in his mouth. Brent's really out of practice, so he keeps his hand stroking most of Johnny's shaft and keeps his mouth on the head and tries to set some sort of rhythm. He'd forgotten what it was like, the taste of it and just the feel in his mouth. Johnny's not worried about being polite, he's already got his hands fisted in Brent's hair – not pulling, exactly, just clenching and unclenching in time with Brent's mouth.

"Fuck, god. Brent," Johnny moans. That makes Brent more adventurous, taking more of Johnny into his mouth until he hits his gag point and backs off.

He keeps it up a while longer, until he's sure enough of what he's doing that he can look up at Johnny to watch his reactions. Johnny's biting his lip and he's got his eyes squeezed shut, and Brent can almost count his ribs as he inhales, so he assumes he's doing a pretty good job.

That's why he's confused when Johnny starts pulling him off. "No wait, no. Brent, please. Not. Not like this."

Brent pulls back and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before stretching his jaw out a bit. "What? Why not?"

"I want you to _fuck me_," Johnny says.

Oh, oh right. That was the plan wasn't it? "Sorry, I got a little distracted."

Johnny grins and stretches out an arm for the lube. "Completely understandable. Now do you want to do this or should I?"

"I-what?" Brent asks. He's not entirely sure what Johnny's asking. He thought they were both on board with the Brent fucks Johnny thing.

"Okay," Johnny says, like Brent's question was an answer, and pops the cap on the lube, squeezing some on to his fingers.

Then he puts his feet wide and flat on the bed and lifts his hips. Brent's so mesmerized by the view – Johnny's got really great legs – that he doesn't catch on to what Johnny's planning until his fingers are pushing against his hole.

Johnny obviously knows what he's doing, and Brent wonders if he does this when he's by himself, alone in a hotel room. With that thought, Brent has to grab the base of his dick and squeeze, while reciting the line-up for the 1993-1994 Canucks to keep from losing it.

He watches Johnny work his fingers into himself, first two twisting and stretching and then three. Brent doesn't realize Johnny's been watching him as he does this, until he glances up. Johnny's flushed and his lips are shiny like he's been licking them and his eyes are dark and zeroed in on Brent, even as he twists his fingers in a way that make his breath come stuttering out.

"Fuck," Brent says. "Can I?" he asks, reaching for the condoms on the nightstand.

"Yes, yes," Johnny says, still sliding his fingers in and out.

It takes three tries to get the condom open, and he can't look at Johnny at all as he puts it on, and he knows lubing up is going to be worse.

Johnny passes him the bottle, "Do you want a hand?"

"No," Brent grits out. He tries to pretend that this is no different from rubbing icy hot into his calf when it goes tight on him, but that doesn't work at all.

"Okay, okay," he says rising to his knees and moving nearer to Johnny.

He's still fingering himself, so Brent lines his dick up with Johnny's fingers, ready to take their place. Johnny pulls his fingers out and pulls his knees back to his chest as Brent pushes in slowly. There's a lot of give, but he wants to make sure he doesn't fuck anything up.

It's hot and tight and Johnny's already stroking his own dick before Brent even pulls out. It's an awesome sight, and maybe Brent moves too quickly back into him, because Johnny freezes for a moment, hand stilling on his cock. But then he just starts jerking himself even faster and Brent can't help grabbing Johnny's hips and really going for it.

It's definitely not his most impressive or well finessed effort, but Johnny's moaning and wrapping his legs around Brent's back to pull him in closer. Brent adds one of his hands to Johnny's cock and their fingers end up tangled together as they stroke Johnny together. He wants to do his part to make sure Johnny's enjoying this as much as he is, and Brent's really, really enjoying this.

"Fuck, Brent, just- up and more," Johnny says.

Brent's not sure if Johnny wants him to do "up and more" with his own dick or with Johnny's - mostly he's impressed that Johnny was able to string that many words together there's no way he could at this point - so he doesn't ask for clarification, and just tries to do both.

He goes lower on his knees for more leverage when thrusting into Johnny and palms the head of his cock. It's a successful combination, judging by the way Johnny's head just falls back and he gives up on touching himself, just letting Brent take over.

It's only a minute more before Johnny's coming in his hand and Brent is so fucking glad because the last threads of his control are fraying badly, the feel of Johnny clenching around him has just about done him in. He shifts forward, clutching Johnny's hips again and just driving into him one last time and letting the orgasm wash over him.

He stays there, riding out the last of it and letting his breathing return to normal, he has to pull out before his hard on gets too soft and makes the condom tricky. The withdrawal gets a little hitch from Johnny, but he just stretches his legs. Brent ties off the condom and leans over the bed to toss it in the trash. Then he flops back down on to the bed next to Johnny, who curls up next to him with a satisfied smile and a little, "hmm" noise.

After a few minutes of lying with Johnny half on top of him, Brent manages to convince him to move enough that Brent can hit the bathroom for a towel so they can both clean up.

He hears the TV click on while he's grabbing the hand towel off the rack. "So much for the afterglow," Brent says, throwing the towel across Johnny's face.

"The Cutting Edge is made for the afterglow," Johnny says pulling the towel off. "There's a hockey player and a figure skater, it's perfect."

"How many times have you seen this?" Brent asks, grabbing his boxers off the floor.

"At least one hundred, probably more. Oh good, we've barely missed anything, Moira Kelly is still auditioning partners. She's so fabulous in this."

"I thought you said there were hockey players," Brent says, lounging back on the pillows next to Johnny.

"One hockey player, he didn't make the Olympic team so he takes up figure skating."

Brent snorts, which earns him a whack, so he doesn't say anything else until the guy actually comes on screen. "Hey, wasn't he in the Spawn movie?"

"D.B. Sweeny? Possibly."

Watching Johnny watch the movie is more entertaining than the movie itself, but the toe pick scene isn't bad.

The two leads are having some big fight on screen when Duncs comes back. Fortunately, Johnny put his underwear back on after Brent refused to blow him during the scene where the girl got dropped a bunch.

"Hey," Duncs says, glancing at the two of them in bed. "Not interrupting, am I?"

"Nah, Johnny just turned on the movie and hasn't moved since."

"It's a classic," Johnny huffs.

"Wasn't that guy in Spawn?" Duncs asks.

"That's what I said!" Brent says.

"I can't claim to have seen that delightfully titled cinematic work," Johnny says. "So I'll just have to trust the two of you."

"Why don't you guys wear the puffy shirts anymore?" Brent asks.

"The better to show off my man cleavage, of course." Johnny attempts to shimmy, but lying down really hampers the move. Still, it makes Brent laugh. "Also it's not 1992 anymore, thank god."

"I'm gonna head down to the lounge," Duncs says. "Enjoy your movie."

"Cool, meet you there later?" Brent asks.

Duncs just waves as he heads out the door.

"Oh yes, the Pamchenko!" Johnny cries.

 

Brent can't get a minute alone with Duncs for the rest of the day. He tries, but every time he thinks he might be able to ask "Hey, what's up?" Duncan manages to get distracted by someone else, or something that's happening around them. He couldn't be doing a better job of avoiding the conversation if he was doing it on purpose.

There's not much time after breakfast on Saturday before they have to go to practice, and Brent is just feeling off. He's not real surprised when Babcock calls him and Duncs over to the bench halfway through practice.

"Keith, why don't you practice with Doughty for a bit. I think I'm gonna play you two, tomorrow."

They both nod, because coach is the coach, but Brent kind of feels like he's had his skates kicked out from under him, but Duncs doesn't look like it bothers him at all.

"Okay coach," Brent says, as Duncs skates away to talk to Doughty.

Brent throws himself into the drills, because he has to – it's the goddamn Olympics.

There isn't a chance to talk during practice, or in the locker room. Everyone's all jazzed up for the game against the Americans tomorrow, but Brent hopes he can grab Duncs on the way back to the Village, see if he's as thrown by the change as he is.

It doesn't seem like he is though, he's laughing and joking with Tazer and Doughty, so when Brent get a text from his mom, he agrees to meet her for some lunch and the speed skating qualifiers.

His mom notices he's in kind of a funk, even though he tries to get into the races. He doesn't have to fake his enjoyment of the crashes, at least.

"Do you want to talk about what's bothering you, honey?" she asks while the next batch of racers line up.

"No," he says quickly. But then adds, "Duncs is going to play with Doughty tomorrow."

It's not like she won't notice.

"Oh Brent," she says, linking her arm with his.

"It's not a big deal, whatever's best for Canada, right?"

"It's only one game," his mom says. "And soon you two will be back in Chicago, in your normal spots and routines."

 

But it's not just one game, because Duncs and Doughty play really well together – not that the box score would show it.

The whole USA game is kind of a clusterfuck. Marty's playing like he's back in juniors, the Americans are taking advantage of every break they get and Team Canada can't catch a break for the life of them.

The locker room is pretty dead after the game and no one is talking to anyone, so when Brent gets a text from Johnny, he doesn't even bother stopping back at his own room.

Duncan looks a little surprised when Brent pushes a different button in the elevator but doesn't say anything. Neither does Brent.

 

Johnny answers the door in a ridiculous silk robe. "You don't want to talk about it."

"No," Brent says, pushing past him.

"That's what I thought," Johnny says, and when he walks past Brent, the robe is gone and Johnny's completely naked.

Brent really, really appreciates Johnny, and Johnny's ass, and he says so.

Johnny laughs and sprawls across the bed, "Why thank you, but this isn't a free show. Tit for tat, come on now."

Brent peels off his shirt, tossing it to the ground and undoes his jeans, stepping out of them quickly.

"It saddens me to think I won't have time in the next week to teach you the art of a proper strip tease," Johnny sighs.

Brent starts reaching down for his pants. "Sorry, should I try that I again? Will I be scored?"

Johnny just leans forward, grabbing the waistband of Brent's boxers and pulling him down on the bed.

He kisses Johnny the same way a goalie breaks his stick on the boards after a shoot out loss, hard and punishing, but Johnny doesn't back down, he pushes back, hands fisting in the still damp hair at the back of Brent's neck.

Soon enough the kisses are just about the feel of Johnny's lips and tongue and how it combines with the way their dicks are sliding between them. It feels great, but Brent wants more. He moves his mouth from Johnny's and tries to start forming words again. "Johnny, wait, I wanna, _fuck_," he moans when Johnny bites the spot where his neck and shoulder meet.

Johnny runs his tongue over that exact spot and then says, "Agreed."

He reaches into the bag on his bed side table and comes out with condoms and lube, but waits before handing them to Brent. "If you wanna fuck me, I'm on board like you wouldn't believe. Or..." Johnny lets the other option sit between them for a second.

And fuck it, he's not playing tomorrow, practice might not be the most comfortable – especially since he can't remember how long it's been since he last did this – but now that Johnny's mentioned it, he really wants it. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck me, come on. "

Johnny grins and kisses Brent again, as he takes the lube out of Brent's hand, leaving the condom behind. Brent moves to roll over as Johnny squeezes some lube onto his fingers, but Johnny stops him.

"Wait, not yet." Johnny sets the lube to the side and palms Brent's dick with his unlubed hand.

Brent really wants Johnny's dick in his ass, but if Johnny wants to take the scenic route, the scenic route that is Johnny's mouth on Brent's dick, he's okay with that. Really okay. He lifts his hips off the bed, pushing further into Johnny's mouth, and Johnny takes it easily. He also takes advantage of the fact that he can reach his fingers back to Brent's ass, smearing the lube and teasing his hole.

Multitasking is Brent's new favorite thing ever. His hips jerk when Johnny pushes a finger in, and he's never had the chance to really appreciate how long and slender Johnny's fingers are. He makes a keening sound when Johnny pulls off of his cock.

"Sorry, but I don't want to choke on it," Johnny says. "And I don't want you to control yourself," he adds, pushing another finger in.

Brent's been fucked before, but not since juniors. He's done this to himself a few times since then, but obviously not often enough, because he'd forgotten what it was like, how many nerves there are, and Johnny just keeps finding more every time he twists his fingers.

Johnny nudges him over onto his stomach, and Brent goes easily, bracing his knees beneath his chest.

"I just want you to appreciate that I'm not taking a picture of this right now," Johnny says, as he slides his fingers back into Brent. "Not that I won't remember what this looks like for like, ever, anyway." He squeezes Brent's ass with his other hand and sighs.

He's not touching the picture taking remark. Somehow they'd end up all over the internet and Burish would paste them all over the locker room and his mother would never talk to him again.

"Are you going to keep sweet talking my ass or are you going to fuck me already?" Brent asks.

"Impatient, are we?" Johnny asks but he drapes himself over Brent's back in order to reach the condom still fisted in Brent's hand, and Brent can feel how hard Johnny's dick is against his ass. He pushes back against it, letting his ass slide against Johnny's dick until Johnny is panting, too.

Brent listens to the sounds of Johnny sliding on the condom, and doesn't have to wait long for the blunt pressure. He relaxes the best he can, but it's hard when he wants this so much. Slowly, Johnny pushes in and Brent moans into his forearm, doing everything he can to stay in position.

Once Johnny's cock is fully inside Brent, and he's had a minute to adjust to the feel of it, they set up a good rhythm. Johnny's pushing a little harder and faster than Brent would've expected, but he can handle it, and it feels great. When Johnny reaches around and wraps a hand around Brent's dick, his legs almost go out from underneath him. It's like earlier, when Johnny was blowing him and fingering him at the same time, only _more_.

"Come on, come on," Johnny says, sliding his hand up and down Brent's shaft quickly. Brent figures that means he shouldn't try to hold on any longer than necessary, so when the sensations just get to be too much, he lets out a long groan and spills himself over Johnny's hand. Johnny strokes him through it, and then grabs Brent's hips and starts fucking him frantically. If he hadn't just come, this would probably do it.

"Oh, fuck," Johnny moans, burying himself in Brent as deep as he can go before going still and jerking his hips against Brent's ass.

It's quiet then, except for the sound of the two of them panting heavily and sweat-slicked skin sliding against each other.

Johnny sighs and finally pulls out slowly, and Brent's acutely aware of his absence. He rolls over out of his own wet spot as Johnny ties off the condom and tosses it in the trash. He then drops down to Brent's side, resting his head on Brent's shoulder.

"Thanks."

Brent's brow furrows. "You're welcome? Thank you?" He may be Canadian but he's not used to being this polite after sex.

"Just, most guys. Never mind," Johnny waves the conversation off and Brent's happy to just zone out for a few minutes.

He hangs around in Johnny's room for a while, because Johnny brought a solid amount of DVDs with him, and he'll watch anything as long as it isn't TSN. Or the local news. Or anything that might mention the game tonight. Brent even showers there, but eventually he has to go back to his own room.

Duncs is asleep, but his lamp is still on, and his book is about to fall off the bed. Brent kicks off his shoes and pads quietly across the carpet to Dunc's bed so he can snag the book – something about Chicago in the 1920s from the look of the cover. Getting the bookmark which is half curled in Dunc's hand is a bit more challenging, but a few careful pushes and he's able to coax it out.

He puts the bookmark between the pages, skimming the text – there's something about mouth perversions, and Brent will never understand why Duncs likes serial killers so much.

There's an unopened beer sitting on Brent's side of the night stand, and a thick ring of condensation underneath it. It's warm to the touch, so he just puts it back in the fridge and crawls into bed.

 

They roll over Germany, thank god, and every goal amps up the team just a little bit more. But every time Duncs goes over the boards and Brent doesn't, he feels like he's crashing into the ice. It sucks.

The crowd starts chanting _We want Russia_ and Brent is just so damn glad they get to play another game, that this isn't 2006 all over again. He's not sure he could deal with the weight of the disappointment of the entire country, even if it meant he wouldn't have to watch Duncs and Doughty play together tomorrow night, too.

They're definitely sticking together, since together they were at least a +4 together, and Brent is lucky he didn't end up as a -1.

 

He's not in the best of moods as he and Duncs settle in that night, but at least they can watch TSN again. Duncs makes a noise when a picture of Johnny comes on screen, his picture next to quotes the announcer reads aloud. _They'll think all the boys who skate will end up like him. It sets a bad example._ and _We should make him pass a gender test at this point._

"What the actual fuck," Brent says to the television as he grabs his phone.

"Some people need to learn to keep their damn mouths shut," Duncs agrees. The anger in his tone shouldn't surprise Brent, but it kind of does.

Then Johnny's on the screen, talking this time, at a press conference. "I hope more kids can grow up the same way that I did and more kids can feel the freedom that I feel to be themselves and to express themselves." Johnny's way more eloquent than any hockey player Brent knows.

"Did you know about all of this?" Duncs asks, when TSN goes back to the hosts.

"No, he didn't mention it, but I think he's hearing about it from everywhere else," Brent shrugs. Johnny let Brent not talk about the USA game, so Brent's fine with letting Johnny not talk about this, though he would've liked to at least offer to bash some heads. Maybe he shouldn't text Johnny.

_Evegni Plushenko is apparently referring to his silver medal as 'platinum', in his latest protest of his loss to USA's Evan Lysacek._

"Oh please, so you did a fucking quad, there's more to the score than that," Brent says to Duncs as he adjusts his pillows. "And people call Johnny a drama queen." Brent's not saying Johnny isn't a drama queen, but it's not like he's the only one in the sport, or even the Olympic Village.

Duncs is just staring at him.

"What?"

Duncs just shakes his head and picks up his book.

Brent punches down his pillow a few times and ends up falling asleep in the middle of the curling results.

 

Russia is unsettling, just because this was supposed to be the gold medal game. This was the match up they were preparing for and the whole team was ready to fight tooth and nail to get past them, but the Russians give up in the middle of the second period.

Everyone's expecting to play Sweden in the semifinals, but Hossa and the rest of the Slovaks manage to pull one over on them, and suddenly Canada has to start prepping for Slovakia. It's good to have a day off between games, but Brent just wants to keep going, wants to take on the games as soon as possible. Waiting is a bitch.

He and Toews go for a run after practice, since they're both too antsy to sit still, but Toews won't let them run more than half an hour, since they need to be able to skate tomorrow. The lounge is busy and loud, with hockey players and curlers mixed together for another ping pong tournament, and it looks like the curlers found the one movie in the world about curling and put it up on the TV.

Brent snags one of the paddles and ends up losing best of three to Corey, but the little white ball is making him crazy, so it's no great disappointment. He passes his paddle off to Duncs and claps him on the back. "I tired him out for you."

Duncs grins and bumps their shoulders together, "Thanks, Seabs."

He'd stand and watch but he's not up for tracking the ball, and there's a free spot on the couch, so he grabs it while he can. Brent _thinks_ he's following the plot of the movie, but then the beavers show up and he's just completely lost, so he pulls out his phone and starts texting people.

None of the Hawks are answering, so they must have practice, and for one sharp second Brent wishes he could be in two places at once. Johnny texts back, _need more luggage, no way I have enough room going home_

_how much did you buy?_ Brent taps out, as Duncs sits down in the spot next to him. "Hey, lost already?"

"Got bored," he shrugs.

_Just doing my part to support the local economy!_

Brent snorts. _your mom doesn't have room?_

"Who're you texting? Sharpy?" Duncs asks, glancing at Brent's phone.

_Not anymore._

"Johnny. I think he's bought half of Vancouver already."

"Oh. At least he's having fun?"

Brent doesn't even have a chance to reply before two more texts come in.

_I'm actually doing better than Torino. And the weight limits are much less strict_ and _Stéphane's the one in trouble this time. He says I'm far too smug._

_He's probably right_

"Yeah, to each their own," Brent says. "Do you have any idea what's going on in this movie?"

_For that, you have to help me pack._

"There's a dead guy in one of the curling rocks," Duncs offers.

_Sure_

"You would know that," Brent says immediately. "Wait, how does that even work?"

_I love Canadians &lt;3_

"His ashes. And it's in the beginning of the movie, there's a whole thing with the cremation and. Nevermind."

Brent just rolls his eyes.

"What?" Duncs asks. "Was that at me, or him?"

"Both of you," Brent says. "But I just got roped in to helping Johnny pack."

"Oh, well. Good luck with that."

"It's probably not going to be tossing things into a duffle, huh?" Brent sighs.

Duncs just shrugs, and he might as well have 'You're the one fucking him' written on his forehead. Then he starts paying actual attention to the movie, like maybe there will be more dead people in curling rocks.

 

They take an early lead against Slovakia, and the team gets caught up in the crowd's excitement, ready to push on to Sunday and have the rematch with USA. Of course, that's when the Slovaks catch them off guard and nearly come back.

After the game, the locker room is quiet, but it's got a happy, excited tone to it. They've got themselves into the _gold medal round_, but everyone's too afraid to say something that might jinx it. Brent's unwinding a little bit, there's only one more game, that's it. He's not sure where the last two weeks went but there's a light at the end of the tunnel and it might be reflecting off of gold.

So when they get back to the Village, he throws an arm over Dunc's shoulder and says, "Hey, I haven't had a chance to beat you at ping pong yet."

"Me and Dewey were going to grab a bite to eat. Maybe later?" Duncs nods in Doughty's direction.

Brent's stomach sinks. "Yeah, sure. Whatever, eh?" he keeps his tone light, and pats Duncs on the back before pulling away.

"Hey, Seabs, I'll play you," Tazer says, coming up on his other side.

Brent shrugs, "I think I might just head back to the room for a bit."

"I stole Call of Duty from Kaner," Toews offers.

He's in the mood to kill some CGI people. "Sure, sounds good."

After four rounds, Toews puts down his controller. "So what's going on with you and Duncs?"

Brent takes a look at Toews, and oh yeah, there it is, he has his Captain hat on. "What? Nothing. It's fine."

Tazer just raises an eyebrow.

"We'll be fine when we get back to Chicago. Don't worry about it, it'll be fine."

"Seabs-"

"The Hawks'll be fine. You can put the C away," Brent snaps. It's worse now, more real, this weird thing happening between him and Duncs, if Toews is noticing it and asking about it.

"I'm not asking as your captain, assface, you're my friend. So don't be a dick."

Brent stares at the blood spatter paused on the screen. Maybe if he doesn't say anything, Tazer will change the subject. It doesn't work of course, he just keeps staring at Brent until he starts talking.

"I don't know what's going on. He's just being weird, and he and Doughty are like..." Brent pauses.

"They're playing well," Toews says, and Brent wishes he could send him crashing into boards.

"Yeah, I know," Brent snaps again.

"It's only one more game, man, then it'll be the two of you again," Toews says.

"But what if he likes playing with Doughty better?" Brent asks, fiddling with his controller. "What if Duncs likes him better? Or Bowman decides to go for a trade?"

He sounds pathetic, and he hates himself a little bit.

"Dude. Seriously?" Toews says. "Okay, for one, that's never going to happen, and for another, Duncs isn't throwing you over for Doughty. He loves... playing with you and it's not like he picks the lines. He's not telling Babcock what to do."

"Yeah, but. I dunno man, I've tried to talk to him but he keeps avoiding me. Has he said anything to you?" Brent glances over to Toews.

"No. Just. I don't think you have anything to worry about it. Just try to relax and focus on the game."

"Yeah, thanks, Tazer."

"Now, as awesome as kicking your ass has been, I'm gonna hit the meal room. You hungry?"

"Nah, go ahead."

 

Brent tires of his game quickly once Toews leaves, and he doesn't want to be in the room to ask how dinner with "Dewey" was when Duncan comes back, so he grabs his key and heads out the door. He really isn't hungry, so the meal room is out, and he's not up for hanging out in the lounge, so unless he wants to go back in to grab his jacket and wander outside, which he doesn't, there's really only one option.

There's music and a few voices coming from Johnny's room, so Brent raises his hand to knock again, and that's when the door opens. It isn't Johnny, or even Tanith, it's one of the other figure skaters. Brent saw him on tv but doesn't remember his name.

"Tanith, did you order a very large hockey player?" he calls back into the room. His accent reminds Brent of Cristo.

"No, that's Johnny's," she calls back.

The guy presses his lips together for a moment but lets Brent in. "Is Johnny here?"

"He is in the bathroom."

"Oh, okay." Brent shoves his hands in his pockets and glances around the room. He's suddenly feeling out of place, even without Audrey Hepburn staring him down. "I'm Seabs, Brent Seabrook."

"Stéphane Lambiel," Stéphane answers, holding out his hand.

"Right! You were really good," Brent says shaking it.

That gets a small smile, "Thank you."

Then Johnny comes barreling out of the bathroom holding four hair appliances Brent had thought were Tanith's.

"Brent! I didn't know you were coming over."

"You said you needed help packing?"

"You are magnificent." Johnny's smile is wide and bright, and some of the tension falls out of Brent's shoulders. Duncs told him not to get distracted, but neither of them thought that maybe Brent would need one, especially because of Duncan himself. "Now, no offense, but I think you will be best utilized later when the application of brute force is needed to close these."

Brent laughs, "I can do brute force."

Johnny relegates him to the bed for the time being, and Brent doesn't have a clue who they're talking about, so he just lets their chatter wash over him.

"Don't you think so, Brent?" Tanith asks.

Brent blinks at her. "Uh. About what?"

Tanith huffs, but it's mostly a laugh. "Never mind."

"Long day, pookie?" Johnny asks, settling next to Brent on his bed.

"Pookie?" Brent asks, but Johnny's trying so hard to keep a straight face that he doesn't push it. "Just the game, and other shit."

"But you won, right? You're going to play us for the gold and are guaranteed at least a silver," Johnny says.

"It's not much of a contingency around here, but yeah. We're going for the gold," Brent affirms. He glances around at Tanith, Stéphane and Johnny. "I feel kind of like an asshole, 'oh boo hoo, I might only win silver'." He's not a big enough asshole to say _and none of you won anything_, but it's not actually necessary.

"I do not envy you," Stéphane says.

"At least Canada's only got, what? Thirty million people?" Tanith offers.

"Just think," Johnny says, "You could be a Yankee."

"Everyone hates the Yankees," Brent points out.

"They have a few fans, and everyone else hates them, so it's a lot of pressure either way." Johnny hugs his head and kisses his temple. "Now what is this other shit that's bothering you?"

He wishes they could keep talking about hockey, even if half the reason he came down here was to not talk about hockey. "Nothing, just roommate stuff."

"I know how that goes," Tanith says from her bed and Johnny lets out an offended gasp.

"I should have made you room with Evan."

"I should've made _you_," Tanith retorts.

"I have a single," Stéphane says. "But you only have to share a room with him for two more days, yes?"

"No, we play in the NHL together and we're roommates there, too. It'll be fine, once we get out of this pressure cooker. Tazer and I talked, it'll be fine."

"Tazer?" Stéphane asks.

"Captain Marvelous," Johnny says, like that answers his question. The frightening thing is, Stéphane no longer looks so confused.

"I-what? ... Did you? I would love to see you call him that to his face," Brent finally says.

"I have seen pictures, he is quite attractive," Stéphane says.

"Total hottie," Tanith agrees and now Brent just wishes Kaner was here to see what his reaction would be. He likes to think he's the hot one.

"I'll take your word for it," Brent says. "Is it time for brute force yet?"

Johnny laughs and pats his shoulder, "Give me one minute to see what else I can fit in."

A fur hat shaped thing is folded carefully and placed in with more shoes than Brent has in his closet back in Chicago. Johnny does make a valiant attempt at closing it himself before Brent waves him off. "This is why I'm here, right?"

"Oh honey, you're here for so many reasons," Johnny says as he backs off of the suit case.

Brent pushes down on the lid and it does go down farther than it did for Johnny, but there's just no way he can make it stay closed. He honestly considers sitting on it, but he'd have awful leverage. "Okay, if you can work the zipper and I'll just hold it down."

When Brent pushes down again Johnny snakes his arm around the suitcase and pulls the zipper around. It's perhaps more difficult than it should be for two professional athletes, but no one's got their camera phone out.

"Jesus!" Brent yelps, letting go of the lid. Johnny let his hand wander away from the zipper and on to Brent's crotch for a quick grab. "_Johnny_."

"What? I wanted to say hello before I had to say goodbye," Johnny pouts.

"You're not leaving til tomorrow afternoon, yeah?" Brent asks, he can finish zipping the suitcase up himself at this point.

"Four o'clock, but we have to leave by two, and you have practice?"

"It should be over by noon, I'll come right over," Brent says. Fuck, he's really gonna miss having Johnny around, and not just because he likes not having to jerk off. He still does in the shower, but that's just habit.

"Busy day," Stéphane says, "Breakfast with me, a nooner with Brent."

Brent really needs to stop scheduling booty calls in front of witnesses. Johnny of course, sees no problem with it. "I'll carboload."

Stéphane just sighs and shakes his head.

"I can't pack my toiletries until tomorrow," Johnny says. "I guess I'll leave the lube with you, it's more than three ounces."

Brent coughs and he can feel himself blushing. He doesn't look at Tanith or Stéphane, as he replies, "You really think I'm going to be needing it before I leave? I may not have given you this impression, but I don't normally go around picking people up that often."

Johnny smirks. "But _you_ are taking a charted flight back, and if you really miss me, I wouldn't want chafing to be an issue."

Tanith gives up trying not to laugh then, and Brent is used to this kind of conversation in the locker room, this is definitely not the locker room. "Your concern is very touching."

"He's a considerate man, our Johnny," Stéphane says. He, too, seems amused by Brent's discomfort.

 

Brent takes the fastest shower known to man after practice and waves to Tazer on his way out the door. He doesn't tell Duncs where he's going, he can figure it out himself and go play with Dewey or whatever the fuck.

After years of summer leagues, hockey camps and teammates being called up or traded at a moment's notice, Brent is pretty used to saying goodbye, but it still kind of sucks.

"I'm gonna miss you," he tells Johnny as they make out lazily on Johnny's bed.

"Don't sound so surprised," Johnny says grinning.

"Maybe not your ego," he says. "Seriously though, I'd've gone crazy around here."

"You were almost as good as a medal," Johnny says. "I'd take you to Worlds with me if I could."

"Let me know how that goes, yeah? You've got my number."

"And maybe I'll come to a hockey game. Are you guys playing in Jersey any time soon?"

"I don't think so, but I know we're in Philly soon," Brent says. Maybe he's a sap, but he likes knowing Johnny's not going to drop off the face of the earth when he gets on a plane later.

"Close enough," Johnny says. "Now, I know I gave you the lube last night, but that doesn't mean we can't go past second base."

 

His mom wants to meet for dinner, "After the bronze medal game of course, I know you want to cheer on Tomas and Hossa."

The team watches it together in the lounge, save the few guys who are out with family or girlfriends. Brent's kinda glad when he doesn't see Doughty in the lounge when he arrives, but when Duncs hasn't shown up by the puck drop his mood takes a turn. It's not like he knows for sure that they're together, they probably not, Doughty's family is probably in town too, and wants to see him before he heads back to LA.

He's able to get caught up in the game, cheering for the Slovaks and trash talking with the guys pulling for their friends playing for Finland.

Even though Slovakia takes the early lead, Finland is able to light a fire under its ass, especially after losing to the USA like they did, and take the medal.

"Only four medals going back to Chicago," Toews says.

"Three of them gold," Brent says, even as the curl of anxiety in his stomach grows. Jesus, they've almost done it, one game left.

"You ready to take Kaner down?" Brent asks.

"If I have to." Tazer's grinning but Brent can see the nerves creeping in.

"I'm going to dinner with my mom, do you want to come?" Brent offers.

"My mom's got plans for us tonight," Toews says.

It's like, okay, the golf trip with the dads was awesome, but there's lots of shop talk in that situation. Not that their moms can't talk shop, but they get that sometimes you need to hear about how your cousin Joanne is going to France for six months and Steve and his wife just had a baby, instead of Ryan Miller's save percentage.

"Later, man," Brent says.

 

He eats a meal the nutritionists would approve of, even though he really wants a cheese burger with bacon and onions. His mom orders it instead and he only has one bite.

There are some advantages to the Olympics being in his home town.

He walks her back to the hotel and gets a long hug that would've bruised a lesser man. "We're so proud of you, sweetie."

"Thanks, mom, couldn't have done it without you," he says to the top of her head. He's been taller than her since he was fourteen, but sometimes it's still a surprise.

He keeps his zen thing going the walk back to the village, and tries to ignore the flare of irritation when Duncs isn't back in their room even as Brent gets ready for bed.

 

The trip for breakfast in the morning is mostly silent, but it's somewhere between awkward and the usual comfortable silences. He's not sure how much of it is in his head, or if Duncs notices it, too. He needs his head to be clear and in the game.

"Sharpy says Burish is already planning on redecorating the locker room," Brent says sipping at his orange juice. He's still waiting for the coffee to kick in.

"Yeah? Well it won't be too difficult to take down just the blue," Duncs says.

Brent grins a little, and Duncs grins back and one of the knots in his stomach loosens. Tomorrow they're going home. Well, Long Island, but then they go home and everything will be back to normal.

"Dude," he says. Unable to really find the words for _holy shit, we're playing in the gold medal game of the Olympics in my hometown and this is fucking huge_.

"I know," Duncs says, kicking Brent's foot under the table.

"Good morning, Brent," he hears from behind him.

The accent tells him who it is even before he turns around. "Good morning, Stéphane," Brent says.

"I know you must be very busy, but I wanted to wish you _bonne chance_."

"Thanks, Stéphane," Brent's kind of surprised, he wasn't entirely sure that Stéphane even liked him. "You gonna watch it?"

"No, I'm afraid my flight leaves just as it begins, and I'm sure you all will be asleep before I am even home."

"Well, fly safe and good luck in Italy," Brent says. "Oh, if you see Tanith, tell her the same?"

"Most certainly, it was very nice to meet you, Brent."

Stéphane heads out of the meal room, and Brent turns back to the last of his breakfast. Duncs is staring at him again. "What?"

"Nothing, just. You certainly made a lot of friends this week, didn't you?"

Something about that makes Brent feel a little defensive. "So? Isn't that the point of the Olympics? International cooperation and friendship and shit."

"Yeah, Seabs, 'and shit', that's it exactly," Duncs says.

"Oh fuck off." He grabs the last slice of wheat toast off his plate. "You ready to get going?"

 

Fucking Zack Parise. That's all Brent can think sitting on the bench, twenty four seconds away from a gold medal. Tazer picked a good time to score his first goal of the tournament in the first period, but then Kaner has to go and grab a second assist at the last minute. Half minute. Twenty minutes of sudden death coming up, and he's ready to do whatever he has to in order to keep the goddamn puck out of their net.

It's the white out of noise that lets him know Crosby scored, and he's almost in shock until the entire team goes scrambling over the boards to dogpile. It's a good thing he's been skating as long as he's been walking, because he's doing everything on autopilot. Handshakes with USA bring him down just a little, mostly the look on Ryan Miller's face, and Kaner, shit. But the crowd doesn't stop cheering until the medal ceremony starts and he's never been happier to hear O Canada before in his life.

The medal only weighs about a pound, but it makes Brent feel at least thirty pounds lighter. He looks for his parents in the crowd and he thinks maybe he can see his mom crying. _They did it._

Duncs has to push him and Tazer off the ice once they finally wrap things up. "Think we'll get champagne bottles of Molson?" he asks.

"And cigars," Brent adds. Those girls had the right idea when it came to celebrating.

"Fuck, you guys. _Holy shit_." Toews keeps saying as they head into the locker room.

All Brent can do is agree, because what else is there to say?

Stephen Harper comes into the locker room, and okay, the guy is a dick, but still the Prime Minister is there to shake all of their hands and take some pictures. Tazer, the dumbass, ends up hanging off of Brent because he's the only one that hasn't taken off his skates yet and Duncs is at his back. It's fucking perfect.

No one's rushing to pack up their shit, even if they all need to go shower and change into their official Canada gear for the closing ceremony. But there's beer, a lot of beer, and the air in the room is addicting, and everyone's just so happy to be where they are – hell, Brent even hugs Doughty a time or two.

Teammates and roommates start trickling out, Thorton and Heatly, then Nash and Richardson. Duncs grabs his bag and looks to Brent. "You coming?"

"Yeah, yeah, just hold on." The medal was a little distracting.

"You can look at it all you want in the room, Biscuit," he says.

"Ass," Brent says grinning. He crushes his empty beer can and tosses it into the bin. "Okay, let's go."

He isn't that drunk, really – at least not on the alcohol itself – but he finds that walking is much harder than skating was, and he's hanging off of Duncs as they walk through the Village. Everyone in red and white is giving them high fives on the way to the elevator and they both return them gladly.

"Fuck," Brent says as Duncs deals with the door.

"You sound like Tazer," Duncs says, opening it and shoving Brent through.

"Hey, Johnny can be very eloquent when he wants to be," Brent says. "Shit, I need to call my mom and dad. And my grandpa, and-"

"I'm gonna go take a shower," Duncs says. "Just stay put."

His parents are somewhere out in the streets at this point, so Brent can barely hear them when he calls, but he can guess most of what they're saying. "I love you, too, mom!"

Brent's just staring at his phone when Duncs comes out of the bathroom in his boxers, waistband already damp. "Gonna call Johnny and get yourself some gold medal ass?"

"No," Brent says, because there wouldn't be much point. Not only is Johnny in New Jersey, but his ass doesn't have a gold medal. "You have a gold medal ass."

Duncs freezes as he buttons his jeans. "Uh, thanks?"

"You're welcome," Brent says.

"You should shower," Duncs says pulling on a shirt. "Gonna start to reek soon."

"Yeah, yeah," Brent says, as he pushes himself up off the bed.

He's at the bathroom door when Duncs snorts. "I don't think you need to shower with that, Seabs."

"Huh?" Brent asks, turning around.

Duncs just shakes his heads and reaches his hands around behind Brent's neck, his fingers brushing Brent's neck as he lifts the ribbon of Brent's medal. He should use Dunc's soap, because he's smelling really good.

Brent ducks his head and lets Duncs pull the medal away. When he looks up to say thanks the words die in his mouth and he's not even sure why. Dunc's tongue peeks out of his mouth for just a second and Brent sways a little on his feet.

But then Duncs is taking a step back, and pushing Brent into the bathroom. "Go, shower. Try not to fall over."

The shower is good, it brings him back down to earth a bit, but things are still awesome down here.

Duncs shoots him a smile when he comes out of the bathroom in one piece, he's pulled out both of their suitcases and started packing things up. Yeah, things are awesome. "I'm glad things aren't all weird anymore," Brent says, pulling on his sweats.

"Weird?" Duncs asks, rolling up some shirts.

"You know what I mean. There was weirdness, and like, you were ditching me for Doughty all the time."

"Ditching _you_? You were the one off fucking Johnny Weir every free moment you had," Duncs throws one of his shirts into the suitcase with more force than is really necessary.

Brent frowns, this isn't how this conversation was supposed to go, remarking that things weren't weird anymore wasn't supposed to make it weird again. "It was just a buddy thing, it's not like I made him my new best friend," he snaps. "And I wouldn't've had to go off to his room all the time if you hadn't made it so clear you didn't want him in our room!"

"What, I was supposed to hang around and _watch_?" Duncan asks, incredulous.

"I don't know how good you think I am, but we weren't fucking all the time, dickface."

"You really don't have any idea why I didn't want to watch movies while you two cuddled in your underwear?" Duncs asks, stepping towards Brent.

Brent just throws up his hands. "Obviously not!"

"Christ, you're a dumbass," he says.

Brent's about to tell him to fuck off, but Duncs backs him into the wall and kisses him. He's pressing his lips hard against Brent's and Brent is just so stunned that he doesn't even try to adjust the awkward angle.

Duncs pulls back abruptly, his face flushed and he won't meet Brent's eyes. "I thought. Fuck, I. Just forget it."

He goes to turn back to packing, but Brent grabs his wrist. "Wait, Duncs. Wait. So... you don't like Doughty better than me?"

Duncs looks as flabbergasted as Brent feels. "Jesus, Tazer wasn't kidding, you really are that dumb."

Brent thinks about protesting to being called dumb so many times in two minutes, but he'd rather try the kissing thing again, without some stupid picture frame digging into his shoulder blade. So he tugs Duncs back towards him and takes that extra second to line them up right before going in for the kiss.

Duncs is only a couple inches shorter than him, not six like Johnny, so Brent just barely has to tilt his head down. It's way better, now that his brain is full participating in this and he can actually appreciate how good Duncan is at this. He's holding on to Brent like they'll go sliding away from each other if he doesn't, and Brent has one hand tangled in Duncan's hair.

Duncs kisses like he plays – bigger than he actually is – so it's not a huge surprise when Brent finds himself manhandled onto a bed. Duncs has him pinned and is kissing him like he's got five minutes to get in as many touches at possible before Brent disappears. It's intense and really hot and he can't help but match that intensity. At the same time though, he wants to make Duncs understand that he's not going anywhere.

He slides his hands under Dunc's shirt and strokes the skin underneath, it's really fucking soft but he can feel the muscles shifting and moving beneath his hands. Brent realizes that his skin is probably that soft everywhere, and why is Duncs still wearing a shirt? So he starts tugging and pulling up on it until Duncs clues in and sits up enough to pull it off. It's nothing he hasn't seen before: they change next to each other in the locker room at least twice a day during the season but it's never been quite like this.

Brent realizes he's kinda been staring and glances up to check Dunc's reaction and the look on his face makes Brent's stomach flip. He's smiling like Brent just handed him a Stanley Cup filled with gold medals. Jesus, Brent's never made anyone look like that, he doesn't even think _he_ looked that happy the day he was drafted. It's too much to think about right now, so Brent just smiles back before pulling Duncs back down, and yeah, his skin is that soft everywhere.

Duncs starts rocking against Brent from between his legs, and Brent tightens his thighs around Duncan's, pulling him closer. Brent is more and more grateful with every passing second that he's wearing sweatpants and not jeans like Duncs. Brent wants to help him out with that situation, but he can't even get at the button and zipper from this angle, so he practically has to wrap his arms around Duncs and roll them over so that Brent is straddling his lap.

He can feel Dunc's cock hard under his and he rubs against it once, and then twice because it makes Dunc's breath hitch and Brent likes the way his eyes flutter shut. Then he gets down to business, rising to his knees so he can get the damn jeans undone and Duncs shoves them and his boxers down to his knees. Brent doesn't even have a chance to register that _hey, that's his cock right there and I'm allowed to actually look at it and touch it_ before Duncs is pulling down Brent's sweats, too and introducing his palm to Brent's cock.

Brent gasps and thrusts into Dunc's hand, which drags his thigh against Dunc's cock and makes Dunc's grip tighten on Brent. He sits back on Duncan's thighs takes the opportunity to really acquaint himself with Dunc's dick. It looks kind of like that Escher drawing, only with cocks instead of pencils, and Brent's going to share his observation with Duncs, but then Duncs runs his thumb over the head of Brent's cock, smearing the pre-come there.

"Fuck, Duncs," Brent sighs, eyes falling shut. Then he feels Duncan's hand on his face, guiding him back down for another kiss.

There's awesome friction now that Brent's weight is pushing their cocks against each other, and he only whines a little when Duncs pulls his hand away and their cocks are just sliding between them. Duncs slides a hand down Brent's side and lets it rest on his ass, occasionally urging him up and closer.

"Seabs, fuck, I. I gotta-" Duncs says against Brent's cheek, and then Brent lifts his head to watch Duncan's face go slack as he comes. Objectively, Brent's sure that Dunc's orgasm face is as dumb as everyone else's but seeing it and feeling him at the same time is up there with the hottest things Brent has ever seen in his life.

He takes a moment to really savor it before he goes back to rubbing himself against Duncs in earnest, sliding easily through his come and feeling his own orgasm build until he can't hold on anymore. It's inertia that keeps him rocking against Duncs as he rides it out, but once he's done, he's done and just lets himself fall back down against Duncs.

They just lie there together, chest rising and falling together and yeah, this is the "Olympic Moment" he won't be able to tell anyone about – no one but Duncs – but he's pretty okay with that. Eventually he realizes that there's a sticky mess cooling between them and he's still half in his sweatpants, so he rolls to the side just long enough to kick off the sweats and use Dunc's shirt to clean them up a bit before moving right back in place where Dunc's arms immediately wrap back around him.

Brent doesn't want to move, he just wants to stay in bed with Duncs for the next week, maybe two. He can feel Duncs shifting around in that 'I'm thinking about getting up' way, and that's just unacceptable.

He wraps his arms tighter around Duncs and says, "No, no moving," into his neck.

"Closing ceremonies, Seabs," he says, running a hand down Brent's back.

"So?" Brent asks.

"So Tazer's gonna be coming in here any minute, do you really want him to find us bare assed?" Duncs asks.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Brent says, finally rolling off of him. He regrets it almost immediately.

Duncs pushes up on his elbows and gives Brent the eyebrow, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, I didn't know he was home at the time or else I would've shut my door," Brent shrugs.

Duncs just shakes his head and gets up to change again, but Brent knows he's grinning.

He's seen Duncs get dressed at least a thousand times, but he's never really _watched_ him.  If he had, it would've been fantasy material for sure, especially since Duncs has to bend over to pull out new jeans and the way his chest looks when he's pulling a shirt over his head.

Unfortunately, his view is disrupted when Duncs throws a pair of jeans at him and they land on his head. There's another rustle of fabric that follows that's either a shirt or clean boxers.

He's half dressed when there's a knock at the door, and Duncs goes to answer it. "Hey, Tazer, Seabs is still getting dressed."

Brent pulls on his shirt and grabs both of their jackets off Dunc's bed. "I'm ready, I'm ready, sheesh."

Brent also grabs their medals off the table as he passes, which means his hands are too full to flip Tazer off when he says "Faster, Biscuit!"

He holds out his hands to let Duncs take his jacket and medal and grins when Duncs squeezes Brent's hand under all the fabric.

Toews lets out a long sigh and says, "Oh thank Christ."

Duncs shoots him a glare, but Tazer's already heading down the hall to the elevator. Brent just pulls on his jacket and slips his medal over his head, before following him with Duncs. They walk close enough that their shoulders brush with almost every step.

The closing ceremony is actually pretty awesome, it's funny, at least and William Shatner is there. He'd still rather be in bed with Duncs, but it could've been worse.

Brent has plans involving a quick getaway once they exit the arena, but there's a Team Canada party happening and they can't say no to that. It's strange to think that in two days they'll all be on opposite sides of the ice again. Not him and Duncs and Tazer, or any of the other guys who play together normally, but the next time he sees Nash or Richards he's going to be trying to break up their rush, not laughing and passing beers. Unless Bowman goes crazy at the trade deadline.

No one seems willing to be the first to go, so the party stretches late into the night and Brent loses track of how many times they toast Yzerman and Babcock and the Queen. Danny Boyle even gets up to toast "The Shat!"

Brent snorts as Tazer finishes half his beer for that one, but he's content to just take a sip and lean heavily on Duncs. Unfortunately, he's past the point of being able to get it up easily, so even if they could go back to their room right this second they couldn't do much, but still, Brent's looking forward to it.

"I'm gonna go see what Kaner's up to," Toews says eventually, clapping them both on the shoulders possibly so he can get his balance because he's swaying a little.

"Okay," Duncs says, sharing a look with Brent.

Brent nods back, he's surprised Tazer lasted this long, too. "See you tomorrow."

He zones out a little then, staring at Dunc's hand where it rests on his thigh as he talks with Iginla, only tuning in when he hears his own name.

"I think I need to put Seabs to bed," Duncs says. "We'll see you later, eh?"

Brent almost reaches for Dunc's hand as they say their goodbyes, and only stops himself at the last second by balling his hand into a fist and awkwardly punching his forearm.

"Careful there, Keith, make sure he doesn't pass out in the elevator," Marc says.

"I got him, don't worry," Duncs says, throwing an arm over Brent's shoulder.

Brent leans into him, and makes sure to exaggerate the width of his smile as they leave. He's not sure if he planned the stumble that made Dunc's other hand come up to his chest and everyone else laugh, but he's a fan of the results either way.

 

"I like it when you touch me," Brent explains as Duncs opens the door to their room. "I wanna, I wanna fuck you, but I had too much fucking beer. And whiskey. I think it was the whiskey. Maybe you could fuck me?"

Duncs laughs, "I think that's a bit ambitious for tonight."

"Maybe tomorrow?" Brent asks, pulling off his jacket and then his shirt.

"You know we're on a plane to New York tomorrow morning, right?" Duncs asks.

"That's not a no," Brent points out.

Duncs just shakes his head, but he's taking off his clothes, too, and he still doesn't say no.

They end up in Dunc's bed, just kissing slow and lazy. Dunc's skin is so warm under his hands and he can't stop moving them over his skin.

"I think I might be able to get it up if you just give me a few minutes," Brent says.

 

And that's the last thing he remembers until the next morning, when he wakes up with Dunc's arm around his waist and his cock pressing against his back. He shifts a little, and Duncs tightens the grip of his arm, pulling Brent back against him. Brent can deal with this position, at least for a little while, he should drink some water – they both should, they should've last night, but there were better things to do with their mouths. But Duncs needs all the rest he can get, so Brent lays his arm over Dunc's and entwines their fingers before drifting off again.

When Brent wakes up the next time, Duncs is already up. He's holding very still, like he doesn't want to move an inch and wake Brent up. But he is up now, so he rolls over under Dunc's arm to face him.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hey," Duncs says back, his voice croakier than normal.

Brent starts to smile at him but is interrupted by a yawn. He cringes realizing he just hit Duncs with morning breath full on, but since the damage has already been done, he leans in for a kiss.

It's awesome, the way Duncs just relaxes against him and Brent pulls back with a grin. "Sorry about the morning breath."

Duncs rubs Brent's shoulder. "I don't mind."

Brent kisses him again, just because he can, and Dunc's hand moves into his hair, holding him there. His morning wood is pressing against Brent's hip, and Brent's dick is also becoming very interested in the morning's activities. He rubs it against Dunc's thigh, in a "good morning, how are you?" kind of thing and Duncs immediately answers back.

Honestly, Brent could do this all day, just kissing Duncs and rubbing up against him but he wants more. He pulls back from the kiss, or he tries to, but Duncs just follows his mouth and his plans for more are delayed a few minutes as they continue on that path, but Brent does move a hand across Dunc's chest to tease a nipple just to see what will happen.

Duncs bites down on Brent's lip and his hips jerk against Brent's and yeah, that's awesome, so he does it again, even as Duncs softens the kiss, an apology for the bite that Brent totally didn't mind.

He does pull back then and says, "Hold on, I wanna-" and nudges Duncs over onto his back

Brent ducks down and puts his mouth against the nipple not being played with by his hand, just kissing it softly at first, maybe licking it a little and bringing it to a point.

"Oh fuck, Seabs, I-" Duncs says, and Brent can half see one of his hands fisting in the sheets as he arches up against him. Brent bites down, just a little, it's more of a tug with his teeth, and Dunc's whole body shivers. He wants to spend the next two months finding all of the spots that will make Duncs shake like that, but right now they don't have the time and he doesn't have the patience for it.

So he moves down Dunc's body, enjoying the up close and personal view of his chest before he finds himself faced with Dunc's cock. It's already leaking a bit, and that's got part of Brent feeling pretty smug as he takes Duncs in hand. Brent strokes him a few times before taking the head of Dunc's cock into his mouth and slowly sliding down.

He's kind of glad he'd done this with Johnny, because he wants it to be good for Duncs, he wants to meet any expectations Duncs might've had for him. Brent glances up to check how he's doing so far, and oh. Dunc's tongue is peeking out of his mouth and his eyes are glazed, it's a strange combination of predatory and dazed, and Brent finds it really hot. He has one hand wrapped around the base of Dunc's cock but he moves the other to his own dick, stroking it as he moves his other hand and mouth on Dunc's.

Dunc's hands fall to Brent's head, petting his hair and his forehead before he tangles his hands in his hair and tries to help set a rhythm. Brent is more than happy to let Dunc's fuck his mouth, he can focus more on jerking himself off, which makes him moan around Dunc's cock. That makes Duncs still and Brent just knows that now is the time for him to take over, taking Duncs as deep as he can and working the rest of him with his hand, occasionally teasing his balls.

He wants Duncs to come in his mouth. The thought alone has him coming into his hand, and fighting not to do anything stupid, like clench his teeth – Duncs would never forgive him, Brent would never forgive himself – and just keep breathing.

"What? Seabs? Did you – oh. Oh, _oh fuck_," Duncs moans. And it's a good thing Brent wanted this, because that's all the warning he gets as Duncs comes in his mouth. Brent swallows as much as he can before pulling off coughing a little and finishing Duncs with his hand.

"Sorry, sorry – I. Jesus," Duncs sighs. "You came on my knee."

"... Sorry?" Brent says, not sure if he should've aimed for his thigh or his calf instead.

"No. Just, _come here_," Duncs says, grabbing Brent by the shoulders and dragging him back up the bed to kiss him.

He catches sight of the clock, 8:37. Jesus, every day should start like this.

 

Brent's phone buzzes on the nightstand, and Jesus, he's got seventy eight text messages and four voice mails.

"Mr. Popular," Duncs says, smirking at him.

"You've got seventy four texts and eight voice mails," Brent says tossing him his phone. Duncs hates the phone more than anyone Brent knows; the smirk is gone.

So then they have to deal with all of those, and Brent tries not to think about how he's texting all of his aunts and uncles and cousins and listening to voice mail from his grandma while naked in bed with Duncs. He likes where he is, "I just can't shake the feeling that maybe they can see us," Brent explains.

"You could put on pants," Duncs points out.

Brent looks at his phone, "Nah, besides it's just Johnny."

"Tazer?" Duncs asks, pausing his own texting.

"Huh? Oh, no, Johnny Weir, he's back in the states already, left Saturday. Apparently Tanith says congrats, too."

"Oh," Duncs says. And maybe if he didn't know what Duncs feels like when he's really relaxed and if they weren't lying this close together on the bed, Brent wouldn't have noticed how Duncs tenses up.

"Oh what?" Brent asks. "He's just a friend, Duncs."

"A friend you were sleeping with like a day ago," he says.

"Yeah, but like." Brent doesn't know how to make Duncs understand how hugely different this is from what he and Johnny had. "It was a really long day."

It's stupid and lame, but Duncs seems to get it because he relaxes and goes back to typing on his phone.

"It was a good day, yeah?"

Brent grins, "The best."

Duncs isn't really a smiley kind of guy, so seeing him grin down at his phone is pretty huge.

Leaving the village is weird, they were there longer than any hotel, but it never really got to the point of being _home_. Brent will remember it fondly, but he can't wait to get in and out of New York and get back to his place in Chicago.

They meet up with Toews and Kaner and catch a ride to the airport. He is looking forward to a small quiet flight, chartered flights for the whole team can get rowdier than a commercial flight easy, but with only the four of them and Aldrich, it should be pretty chill.

Kaner passes out even before take off and Tazer's in Mama Bear mode, shushing Brent and Duncs when they try to talk. Eventually, Duncs gets out a book and his PSP, handing the latter to Brent. Brent keeps meaning to get his own, but all his high scores are on Dunc's and Duncs is always willing to share with him. They always sit next to each other on the buses and planes, so it's there whenever Brent needs it. Just like Duncs is.

Brent puts down the game and stares at Duncs until Duncs looks up from his book.

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell me we're dating?" Brent asks.

Duncs scratches his ear, "It seemed kind of early for that kind of conversation."

"No, I mean, why didn't you tell me we'd _been_ dating?" Brent holds up the high scores list as proof. Hell, Duncs doesn't even like this game, but he brings it on every road trip, just so Brent can play it.

"I thought you knew," Duncs shrugs.

Brent feels like an asshole.

"Newsflash, you two are married. Now shut the hell up," Tazer hisses from across the aisle.

Brent's pretty sure Kaner is drooling on Johnny's shoulder. "Takes one to know one," Brent mutters. Johnny just flips him off.

Brent puts the game down and takes Dunc's hand, squeezing it and Duncs squeezes back. "So when's our anniversary?" he whispers.


End file.
